


the man in the mirror (look away, look away)

by justrunamok



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Just angst, Self-Worth Issues, again just angst, and poor carrillo, holy shit, like legit no light at the end of the tunnel type of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:46:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24489961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justrunamok/pseuds/justrunamok
Summary: he wasn't a good man. not at all. but he fought hard for it.
Relationships: Horacio Carrillo/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	the man in the mirror (look away, look away)

**Author's Note:**

> hi just felt a teeny bit blue and this is my little sad monster. crack at it

All his life, Horacio had been battered and beaten into shape.

Now, don't misunderstand, he wasn't feeling sorry for himself, he had invited those brutal lessons, welcomed them even. Those punches that had devastated his skin and the kicks that had knocked the breath away had left him knowing more. They left him harder, stronger, better. The blooms of dark colour on his ribs and white slivers of scar tissue told his story of desperation that had bled into determination.

For Horacio was nothing if not driven, an almost dogged focus that he poured into the things he wanted in his life. Nothing he set his mind on escaped without him raising hell, tearing through the world and its' people so he could take what he was owed. Whether it be the heads of those fucking narcos or the respect of his men, Horacio never relinquished his goals. Never. 

He saw in black and white. But not as most did.

Black did not mean bad things you should never do, just as white was not the good deeds that you should always strive to perform, no. Black, to him, was cruelty and greed and crime while white was the innocent. That was it.

Horacio knew where he belonged, and he was not a man made to be wreathed in the purity of white. He was not innocent, not in the slightest. He had plundered and stolen and killed just as black should. Yes, he had done it for his country, but that did not wash the filth and grime from his hands. He was elbow-deep in the refuse of Colombia.

He was no faithful believer, but he knew that whatever golden light that waited in the other world, it would not receive him with open arms. He was too dirty, too muddied with his choices. Dios would never accept those that bathed in black.

But she was white.

And she shone so bright, Horacio wished that his hands were cleaner. She had stood witness to the raging viciousness that roiled inside him, yet she stayed and loved and cared. There were those who would ask why would one, with such good in them, love a man that was more monster than anything? Horacio didn't know the answer to that. She liked to think that she did. It was because he was good too, she said, that black and white didn't matter, just that he fought for what was right and knew where he had stepped wrong. 

He knew that he was her one mistake. He wouldn't tell her to go, never. He would nuzzle into her for as long as she let him.

That should prove it, he was greedy. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed it. as usual, comments and kudos much appreciated, stay safe guys. we've got some hella scary things going on right now, so please be careful.


End file.
